Vanna Hem, bar manager at Weezie's Kitchen (Photo by Erin Edgerton)
I‘ll happily eat or drink most anything. Milk gone off, however, never ceases to make me cringe. Well, it did, until Vanna Hem, the bar manager at Weezie’s Kitchen, suggested to me one evening that I should sample his fermented milk.
Not just any bartender could convince me to put aside my primal fears — suppressing horrific visions of a forgotten jug of milk shoved to the back of the fridge or left in a picnic cooler. But I’ve known Hem for a long time. First during his seven-year stint at Can Can over a decade ago, where he mixed me martinis at the long zinc bar while my kids in their carriers happily chewed on crusty bread. Later, he honed his skills at celebrated, yet now sadly defunct, places like chef Owen Lane’s Vagabond, and Curry Craft in Carytown.
In early 2017, Hem landed at Weezie’s, where he was given carte blanche to create a cocktail program that has quickly become an industry-insider hot spot — where you can rub elbows after hours with chefs, cooks and front-of-house personalities from all over RVA. This was the scene that drew me in for my current tipple, a daiquiri. Hem, however, had other ideas.
To make his intriguing elixir for Weezie’s, Hem literally starts with whole milk. Gently steeped with crushed cinnamon sticks, black tea, orgeat (an almond syrup), sugar and citrus until all the flavors have been extracted. Did I mention he adds a generous portion of brandy to this? He does.
The citrus in the brew is key, causing something you normally avoid — curdling. The separation solidifies the milk solids and proteins, leaving behind a clear liquid. And, yes, at this point it’s all a little reminiscent visually of a long-forgotten jug of milk. The glorious aroma, however, is not.
Straining out the solids comes next. “Cheesecloth is basically useless,” Hem warns. “It’s not fine enough, and you end up with a mess.” Instead, he opts for a brand-new cotton T-shirt to remove the unsightly solid bits before letting the milk sit for a couple of days.
To finish it all off, the fermented milk needs to take a little journey — a couple doors down to The Jasper — before making the return to Weezie’s. There, Brandon Peck has set up their centrifuge, something they often use to remove pulp from the myriad mixers used behind their bar, the perfect device to take our slightly cloudy liquid to a beautiful pale amber. “It’s like having a light eggnog without the heaviness of the cream,” Hem says of the finished product.
After having some poured over ice, eliciting a satisfying series of cracking noises, along with a dusting of freshly microplaned nutmeg, I was sold. I may never look at that old jug of milk the same way again.
